


You've Got Me

by Inell



Series: 2017 Prompt Challenge [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, New Orleans, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9356195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Stiles arrives home earlier than expected and finds someone sleeping in his bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/gifts).



> cywscross said: “I might have slept with your shirt when you were gone.” with Peter/Stiles ^_^
> 
> I get nervous writing Peter/Stiles, so I hope you enjoy this, bb! Fic #16 in the 2017 Prompt Challenge

 

 

The flight from San Francisco to New Orleans arrives half an hour earlier than scheduled. It’s a red eye, because that was the cheapest ticket available, so Stiles stumbles into the airport at half past three in the morning instead of the projected five minutes after four. Fortunately, he doesn’t have anyone meeting him at the airport today, so he’s able to immediately catch a cab to take him home. There’s a reason he didn’t let his housemate know the exact details of when he was flying in, after all. He knows that Peter would have come to pick him up no matter how much Stiles protested, and he also likes the idea of surprising him by coming home sooner than planned.

The cab takes the quickest route to the city, so he stares out the window and semi-dozes because he knows it’ll take a little bit to get to his place. It’s about a thirty minute drive, though it might be less without traffic, so he lets his thoughts drift to his vacation. The visit to Beacon Hills was really nice, seeing his dad and Natalie, seeing Chris and Melissa, hanging out with Scott, catching up on pack business. It had been an enjoyable week away from grad school and his magical apprenticeship, but he’s honestly relieved to be back in the town that’s become his home during the last six years. And, as much as he loathes to admit it even to himself, he’s missed Peter.

When he originally accepted a scholarship offer from Tulane, he hadn’t expected any of the pack to follow him to New Orleans. Not that Peter considers himself pack, regardless of the fact he’s the reason Scott turns furry now, but, for some reason, he seems to consider  _Stiles_  his pack. At least, that’s what Stiles could interpret the smirks and cryptic answers to mean when he’d asked why Peter suddenly thought it was important that Stiles not go to New Orleans alone. Of course, looking back, it’s entirely possible that Peter already knew about Stiles’ inherent magical abilities and was aware that the supernatural hub of New Orleans would awaken his talents. All he knows is that he’d actually been relieved to have Peter loitering around when he went to the French Quarter the first time and ended up nearly blacking out from the magic and power in the air.

Another perk to Peter moving with him definitely has to be the house they share. It’s an old house in the Garden District area, not too far from campus and not too far from the herbal shop where he apprentices with a witch named Selena. Old and totally haunted but incredible. As if Peter would live anywhere that  _wasn’t_  a little fancy and sophisticated. The house has a history to it that appeals to Stiles’ interest in the past, a friendly ghost that likes to be mischievous that appeals to his magical side, and it always feels a bit like a warm hug whenever he walks through the front door. Odd as it may be, he feels safe when he steps onto the property in a way he can’t remember really feeling since he discovered the existence of the supernatural world. He knows part of it is the house, but a large part of it is due to Peter.

It’s been five years since they started sharing a house; his first year spent in the dorms at Tulane, which was an experience he never wants to repeat. Stiles has been back to Beacon Hills several times a year during that time, but he’s never really felt quite so anxious to get back to see Peter. Their relationship is complicated, undefined. There are times when Stiles thinks that Peter wants him, the way he’ll stare or the serious tone his playful flirting might take, but then Peter will be encouraging him to go out with some guy from school or suggesting a set up with a waitress he met at a coffee shop. Something always seems to hold him back—hold them _both_ back.

The thing is, Stiles doesn’t really date. Not anymore. When he first moved to New Orleans, he did the usual freshman stupidity of getting drunk before finals, going to frat parties, making out with anyone willing, sowing his oats with men and women who didn’t have some preconceived notion of him being a hyperactive geek. It had been liberating, and he got to discover things about his sexuality that he’d never realized; kinks he likes and things that don’t really do it for him at all. It got old pretty fast, though, and he wasn’t about to risk his scholarship by partying too much, so he sort of just rearranged his priorities and got serious about school. Plus the magic training takes a lot of time and energy, too.

Not that he’s celibate by any means. There haven’t been any relationships, but casual is definitely a good release from the stress of grad school and learning how to control his magic. He still goes out to clubs or to parties, picks up someone interested in a quickie who has an exhibitionistic streak, finds an alley or dark corner and gets off. He never even considers bringing them home because it just feels wrong, somehow. Besides that, he always catches Peter watching, lurking in the shadows staring as someone sucks him off or he fucks someone until they’re whimpering. Knowing Peter’s watching turns him on, as twisted as that is, and Stiles can’t help but think about fucking into Peter’s mouth, thrusting into his tight ass, and he comes staring into Peter’s eyes more times than he cares to admit.

So, yeah, Complicated with a capital C.

When the cab pulls up to the house, he hands over the fare plus a tip before getting out. It’s a little after four, and the house is dark. Stiles tries to be quiet as he unlocks the front door and goes inside, taking his shoes off so he can creep upstairs without making so much noise. Peter’s a light sleeper, and he doesn’t want to wake him up no matter how badly he wants to see him right now. He manages to make it to his room without hearing any signs of movement from Peter’s room, and he smiles as he thinks about Peter’s surprise in the morning when he wakes up to find Stiles home two days earlier than expected.

His room is dark when he steps inside. He drops his carry on and puts down his shoes, pulling his socks off then shoving his jeans down. He’s too tired to even take a shower yet, so he’s planning to crawl into bed for a few hours of much needed sleep then do responsible returning traveler things like unpacking, showering, and laundry. He pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor by the bed. When he kneels on his mattress, the bed moves, and he hears a snuffling sound that makes him freeze.

“What the fuck?” Stiles reaches over and turns on his bedside lamp, blinking at the sudden brightness.

“Turn it off,” Peter mutters, tugging the blanket over his head and shoving at Stiles. “Bright light.”

“What the hell are you doing in my bed, Mogwai?” Stiles doesn’t turn the light off. Instead, he pulls the blanket off Peter’s face and stares at the sleep-mussed hair and half-lidded eyes that are staring up at him.

Peter suddenly stiffens, eyes widening slightly. “It’s only Wednesday. You’re not supposed to be home until Friday.”

“I lied. I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Stiles arches a brow and moves quickly, straddling Peter and pinning him down with his weight because he can see the moment Peter decides to make a run for it. “So surprise. Now tell me, what you’re doing in my bed, Peter.”

“There was a chill in my room, so I used yours until I could have the heat repaired.” Peter blinks up at him, looking rumpled and sleepy and pretty damn adorable.

No. Stiles did  _not_  just think of Peter ‘Walking Dead’ Hale as adorable.

Fuck.

“You’ve got a ton of blankets. Try again.” Stiles shifts slightly and the blanket falls further down Peter’s chest. “Are you naked in my bed? Dude.”

“I’m not naked,” Peter says tightly. “I’m wearing pajama pants because I’m a civilized man. Unlike you who prances around in their underwear and sleeps nude like a heathen.”

“I like to sleep nude. No judging allowed. Hey, is that my shirt?” Stiles reaches over to tug on the blue fabric under Peter. “Why’s my shirt in the bed? I know I put that in the hamper before I flew out.”

“I hate surprises,” Peter growls, eyes flashing blue as he bucks up and catches Stiles off-balance. Stiles topples over, but he manages to grab at Peter’s waist before he can slip out of the bed.

“You’re awfully cranky when you get woken up,” Stiles says, unable to stop himself from copping a feel as he grips Peter’s abdomen and rubs his face against his shoulders. “You’re too sleep-dazed for a fair fight, so why don’t you stop trying and just tell me what’s going on.”

“I  _might_  have slept with your shirt when you were gone,” Peter mumbles, sounding sullen and defiant in a way that makes Stiles smile.

“You missed me, huh?” Stiles hides his grin between Peter’s shoulderblades, stroking his thumb over Peter’s belly button.

“I can’t fathom why.” Peter sighs and puts his hand over Stiles’, making him stop the gentle stroking.

“I missed you, too,” Stiles admits softly, feeling Peter’s hand tighten on his.

“Did you?” Peter clears his throat. “You missed your housemate?”

“No, I missed  _you_.” Stiles cautiously presses his lips against Peter’s back, hearing the sharp inhale of breath as his mouth touches warm skin. “We haven’t ever _just_ been roommates, Peter. Have we?”

“I was merely waiting for you to realize,” Peter murmurs, sounding rather smug for someone who had tried running away instead of confronting this  _whatever_  is between them.

“Well, I’ve finally realized. But I’m too tired right now to have that serious of a conversation, so why don’t you lie back down, and we’ll talk in the morning,” Stiles suggests, knowing he sounds hopeful and not particularly caring if Peter recognizes the vulnerability he feels regarding what he’s  _really_  asking.

“I’m sure that my room is still too chilled for sleeping anyway.” Peter strokes the back of Stiles’ hand. “You’ll have to let go if you want me to lie down, sweetheart.”

“Right. Of course.” Stiles loosens his grip, and he doesn’t have a chance to move before Peter’s turns and presses him into the mattress.

“Are you sure?” Peter stares intently into Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles can see the fear and concern that Peter’s not bothering to try to hide. The openness makes his breath catch, and he can only nod because words aren’t really possible at the moment.

Peter lets go of his wrists and caresses the curve of his jaw before he leans down to press their mouths together. It’s not the filthy first kiss that Stiles has thought about over the years. Instead, it’s gentle, sweet, and chaste. A total contradiction to the game of voyeur and exhibitionist they’ve played in the past. Any hesitation or worry that Stiles has felt in the back of his mind starts to fade away as Peter touches his face like he’s something priceless that he’s still not sure is really his.

“I’m sure,” he whispers, pulling Peter down and kissing his cheek before maneuvering them so that Peter’s the little spoon and Stiles has his legs entwined with Peter’s. He tosses the blue t-shirt on the floor before using his magic to turn off the light. Lazy and likely to earn him a glare from Selena but totally worth it because Peter relaxes into him once it’s dark. He kisses Peter’s neck, nuzzling it in a way that he’s seen Scott do to his girlfriends in the past, scenting him, and Peter’s low growl is contented not threatening. “You won’t need my shirt anymore, Peter. Now you’ve got me.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://inell.tumblr.com)


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